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We wandered past the colonial buildings of the Barrio Amón, walked past the national library and through the Parque Nacional, the Parque España, the Parque Central, and the Plaza de la Cultura.
And I have an umbrella.” We left the bar and wandered through the rain-soaked streets, and he told me about the pickpockets who slice the bottom of tourists’ backpacks and steal whatever drops out.
There is no word in English for madrugada — that time between midnight and dawn, the gray nearly.
He followed me barefoot into the street, kissed my cheek, handed me my bag, and I said, “hasta,” meaning soon.
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They whistled at me as I passed, calling out to me: “.” I hurried by, looked at my shoes. I knew I shouldn’t be walking through the streets of San Jose alone at dark but wished I didn’t have to shrink at the catcalls of men. “I’m in for whatever.” In the bathroom of the salsa club, I stared into the mirror. I said this: Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it, as if anyone ever talked herself out of something in a bathroom mirror.
We hugged hello and then each had a glass of wine, and it was obvious the bottle had been open for days if not weeks. He told me about his life in San Jose, if he would ever return to the States. “And to tell you the truth, I can’t see it.” We then went to a tapas bar, split a bottle of Rioja, and shared two plates of tapas. I went back onto the dance floor and after one spin, my resolution was broken.
Without later inventing our own inquisition and mounting it against ourselves. When we arrived to his apartment, it was confirmed that it wasn’t a drink we were after. I can’t report what that mixture tasted like because before I took a sip, we were tangled up on the couch. ” I was too tired for this, having just arrived on a red-eye. Dark rings of sweat circled the underarms of his shirt, and his face shined red like a beet. “Let’s go,” I said, “I need a nap.” We walked back to my hotel in the rain. I have a very good one.” I told him I just wanted to go to the address of the bad, burned-down, out-of-business hotel. He offered to meet me, show me around before I left the next day for Quepos. A giant man wearing wranglers and a cowboy hat was flanked by two beautiful women, girls really.I knew what I was about to do, and once again, the lover and the place would become inextricable, so there would be no way to separate one from the other.But my emotions over the young prostitutes crowded my thinking.
The manager had his hands cupped over his chest, saying “Grande, muy grande.” “What’s he saying? I wanted these women to have better choices, the ability to make money without selling themselves to disgusting men.